Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #291

This is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! Take the 10 random words below and crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story! And remember: after (if) you finish entering your submission into the comment field, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.) NOTE: Our bolding plugin is gone, so you’ll have to put <b> and </b> around each of your words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH.

  1. Fade
  2. Walk
  3. Seethe
  4. Negative
  5. Space
  6. Remember
  7. Nothing
  8. Hard
  9. Mad
  10. Agony

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

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22 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #291”

  1. […] is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #291. Click on over and take the challenge yourself, or just read the comments to see what others have […]

  2. Continuation…

    Jill fell into a plush recliner by the unlit fireplace. The coffee had been replaced with root beer while she listened to more of her father’s story. She felt proud of his negative response to the king’s awful request. He stopped talking and listened hard. Something banged and scraped against the outside walls. Jill sat upright, remembering the thing from her window.

    “It’s probably nothing,” Tom said. “They tend to attack under cover of night but I’ll walk the perimeter just in case. Stay here.” He pocketed a revolver, lowered the defenses and left the room.

    Jill kept still listening for any sounds from the outside. Soon steps echoed down the hall. Jill stood with relief but what stood in the doorway stopped her cold. It laughed.

    “Hehe, I find you, whelp. I get reward! Hehe, won’t hurt you, promise.” It walked with an odd gait, as if unaccustomed to walking upright. Jill backed into the fireplace, her hand reaching back for any kind of weapon. Her fingers tightened around the poker. The creature shuffled forward, it’s humanlike body, draped with an otherworldly tunic and leggings. Its feet were bare, humanlike, except for its long nails that clicked like claws on the hardwood. The dark eyes gleamed with joy causing its lips to pull back from his muzzle in a grotesque smile. The gray hairy face and pointed ears were dotted with black and a ridge of hair stood on it’s neck and continued down its back.

    “Stay back! My father will kill you!” she said.

    “Hehehe, father not help you. I set a trap! Hehe!” it laughed as it moved closer. “Take you now to Wolf King. Get reward!” He reached for her as blue sparks flew off his claws. Jill swung the poker across its chest. It fell back a few spaces. The laughing faded. He snarled, seething malice and rubbed the scrape across his chest.

    Jill raised her poker again, this time to stab when she saw a flash of brown fur lunged from the doorway. The wolf and hyena fell across the room, teeth tearing, claws scratching. The sounds mingled in a horror symphony. The hyena tossed the wolf across the room and shifted to his animal form. Jill’s heart sank when she saw its massive size compared to her father, who seemed in agony and unfocused. The hyena attacked him again, biting the wolf’s shoulders, neck and drawing blood fast. He drew back and shifted to his half human form, leaning over his wounded prey.

    “You like trap, wolf? They said use scorpion poison but not too much, hehe, hehe. Wolf King will give big reward for you! But first, I take whelp.”

    Jill stabbed the hyena just as it turned toward her. She pushed the poker as far as she could into its belly before she released it. The hyena fell the ground writhing madly on the floor, it’s claws slick with blood and unable to dislodge the poker from its body. Howls of pain soon gave way to silence. Jill ran to her father, who lay bleeding and panting heavily, his mouth frothing.

    “Daddy!”

    “I’ll be alright but we need help,” he said, his eyelids drooping.

  3. A Hole in the Sun
    The doctors’ revelation was too much for Sarah. Her mental state began to deteriorate rapidly. As her lucidity began to fade, Sarah tried to rise from her bed. “I need to take a walk.”

    Doctor Psycho gently pushed her back down onto the bed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Sarah. Obviously, this news has shaken you. We need to monitor your alpha waves. They’re seething like a stormy ocean. The boundary between fantasy and reality has been breached. There’s no telling what you’ll conjure.”

    “I’m fine. It’s just the negative bias crowding my inner space. By this time tomorrow, I will remember nothing of this conversation.” Sarah was determined to get away from these crazy people.

    And suddenly, she was. Gone.

    “Oh, God! She flat-lined!” Doctor Probe panicked. “Slide that crash cart over here, man! We have to do a hard reboot!”

    Doctor Psycho shouted back, “Are you mad? Can you imagine the agony she’ll be in if we reanimate her while her memories are intact? Doctor Graft had the right idea all along. We should have just let her rot!”

    Doctor Probe had not heard a word he was saying. When she realized that he wasn’t going to help, she shoved him out of her way and grabbed the portable defibrillator.

    Doctor Psycho screamed, “She hasn’t arrested, what are you doing!” He tried to block Doctor Probe but only managed to trip on the edge of the cart. As he fell to the floor, he heard her most chilling and unexpected response.

    “It’s not for her heart.”

  4. Mistyfan says:

    Continuation from CCC281 onwards

    Straum put the toolkit on the nearest table and flung its flaps open. His triumphant grin faded slightly as the first glance yielded nothing but the usual plumbing tools. But he wasn’t going to be fooled as easily as that; it had to be here, it had to be. He began taking out the tools one by one and putting them on the table.

    “Hammer…wrench…spanner…pliers…” he muttered. Behind him, his guards could hear him seething as his frustration mounted with each tool that was nothing but a tool.

    Out came a packet of cigarettes, which was a bit of variety but added nothing to the investigation. Behind him, Straum could feel the eyes of his men light up. Cigarettes were like currency. And there was a lighter to go with them as well. Straum noted that it was an unusually resplendent lighter for a mere plumber, but thought nothing more on it; he had to find it, whatever it was.

    But by the time Straum reached the bottom of the toolkit, his search had turned up negative: he was staring at nothing but empty space at the bottom of the toolkit and the table was full of perfectly ordinary plumbing equipment. Desperate, he turned the toolbox over and over; surely there must be some hidden compartment. But it proved to be as fruitless as the rest of his search. He was beginning to feel like a fool and his frustration was now at maddening point. Could he be wrong after all?

    Then he remembered the plumber’s van parked out on the kerb. He ordered his men to take it apart and the others still in the pub to resume their search of the pub.

    Now all he could do was watch and wait while his men tore the place apart and hold the terrified patrons at gunpoint.

    He waved to one of his men. “Put these back in the toolbox.” He couldn’t be bothered to put all those tools back himself. The guard dutifully came over and began to carefully put all the tools back in the box. But as the guard reached for the lighter, Straum clamped a restraining hand over it. “No – leave it – I want a smoke!” He had just realised that he could do with one. The whole day had been one of the hardest he had had all week, and there seemed to be no end to it.

    And, come to think of it, he could do with a walk as well. He began to amble towards the door and some fresh air. He sighed as he thought what a lousy day he’d had…that flooding in the bathroom…Gabon taking advantage of it all to sneak into headquarters right under their very noses and doing God knows what while he was there.

    Straum winced when he remembered how he’d slipped on the soap and crashed on his bottom. The agony and the indignity had mostly subsided, but he could still feel the soreness and bruising where he had landed on the floor. He definitely was not going to sit down for the rest of the day. And now he was tearing up half the town looking for Gabon but there was no sign of the verdammt terrorist. If something didn’t happen soon, he might soon be kissing goodbye to that reward on top of everything else.

    He stuck one of the cigarettes into his mouth and raised the lighter. He clicked down on it. But there was no flame. He clicked again. Nothing happened. Donnerwetter! The lighter was not working? He flicked on it again – nothing.

    Just then, there was a loud “boom” in the distance. It rocked the whole street, giving everyone a fright. Straum spun around, the cigarette falling out of his mouth. “What was that?!?”

  5. Mistyfan says:

    Thanks! I have to wrap this up soon because I am going on holiday next week, so let’s hope the next prompt comes quickly.

  6. It’s fading, urging me to walk, seething me in negative space. I wish to remember nothing hard, maddening, or agony-filled.

  7. Lisa says:

    Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

    My mother’s voice was soothing and her touch comforting, as she pulled the blanket up around my ears, patting my chest gently. She walked Mr. Bear up the side of my bed, made him kiss my forehead and tucked him in tightly next to me. The stuffed animal was nearly as big as I was, taking up a large portion of the bed. The house still held tight to the sweet smell of freshly baked bread from this afternoon.

    “I love you.” Mom whispered, placing a kiss on the tip of my nose followed by a gentle peck on my forehead. Those tender touches were more comforting more than a cup of cocoa on a cold winter day and every soft-spoken “I love you” was a nugget of gold to be hoarded for later.

    “I love you too, Mom,” I replied with a smile.

    We had a good day together, filled with coloring, digging in the garden and finding shapes in passing clouds. I had learned how to somersault and was thrilled by making her laugh as I rolled headlong down the backyard hill. I was trying desperately to learn how to whistle, and wandered around, lips puckered, blowing and sucking air to no success. I wanted to remember days like this forever.

    “Let’s say our prayers,” she said, bringing me back to the present.

    “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take,” I said, repeating each line faithfully.

    I had no idea what the prayer meant, only that we said it every night before I went to sleep. The same prayer was painted on a ceramic plaque on the wall above my bed. The image was of a little girl praying on her knees by her bedside. The simple routine of repeating this prayer and having that time alone with my mother was reassuring and a daily comfort.

    “God bless…”she said, waiting for me to continue and to choose who I wanted to include in my prayer.

    “God bless Mommy and Daddy, Gram and Grampy, other Grammy, and all my family. Amen.”

    “Amen. Sleep tight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

    Mom re-tucked the blankets, shut the bedroom light off and left the door open slightly so the light from the bathroom could shine in, scaring away the boogeyman.

    I rubbed the short, soft teddy bear fur and pulled him closer, snuggling into his outstretched arms.

    “Mr. Bear. I love you. Please keep me safe and watch me when I sleep. Please make me not be scared.”

    I didn’t tell Mom or God that I was afraid to go to sleep. But Mr. Bear listened and he kept his shiny glass eyes open all night long. I faded into sleep, clutching him tightly, hoping nothing would penetrate my dreams .

    The End of A Dream

    I was yanked abruptly from the land of dreams by someone’s yelling. A stranger laughed loudly in the kitchen. Reaching to pull Mr. Bear closer, I couldn’t find him in the bed. Panic began to set in. The light from the doorway stretched into the room, making hard-edged monsters out of every shadow. Looking down beside the bed, I let out a deep breath of relief as I saw the bear’s brown form lying face-down on the floor. He was a dark lump in darker negative space. Scampering out of bed just long enough to grab him, I pulled him back under the covers with me.

    “Did you save me, Mr. Bear?” I whispered, trying to force the tears back where they came from. I held my breath, waiting for a sign of what was to come next.

    “Don’t you tell me what I can or cannot do in my own house!”, my father roared. I could hear the demon seethe in his voice, then the noise of someone setting a case of bottles down. I knew what they were by sound and experience alone – Alpine beer. Brown bottles with stubby short necks, each with a picture of a mountain on the label and Alpine written in red. Each one came filled with a drink that made people act differently. When my Mom had some, they made her act silly and funny. When my dad had lots, I never knew how he was going to act. Sometimes he was loud and laughed a lot but sometimes, usually if he added different drinks, he got loud and scary. Loud, scary and mad. I didn’t like being around him then. Mom said he got “rum dumb”.

    “Please Mark, Laura is sleeping. Just tell your friends that they have to go somewhere else to finish the party”, she pleaded.

    “Oh honey, don’t worry your little head, we’ll be quiet”, slurred some man who most definitely was not my father. Someone laughed harshly, snorting and then coughing.

    “Mark, please?” My mother’s voice sounded like she did whenever she was angry at my father but knew he would do what he wanted anyway. She sounded defeated.

    “Where iz shee? Tell ‘er to come out here so we kin see how big she’s gettin’,” another unknown man mumbled.

    I didn’t want to go out there. I crawled deeper under my blankets, squeezing Mr. Bear tight. “Mommy, please don’t make me” I thought. The fear of waiting for the inevitable was agony. I hated when Daddy was loud and smelled bad. I hated his loud, stinky friends who wanted me to sit on their laps and scratched my face with their dirty whiskers. I hated when Daddy made Mommy cry.

    His form suddenly filled the doorway, blocking the light from the bathroom. With the light coming from behind him, I couldn’t see his features. I was sure the boogeyman had arrived. Yet, Mr. Bear simply lay docile, his glass eyes staring blindly off into another world.

    I knew then that neither God, nor Mr. Bear would ever save me.


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